Dark Angel
by admonitio
Summary: (AU) Derek is an insensitive, mean-borderline cruel-angel, but Chloe can't deny that he did save her life. The only question that remains is why he is staying around her?
1. I

Dark Angel

I

Chloe didn't believe in God, coincidences, and absolutely not _fate._ If fate was real, she reasoned as she briskly walked down the snow-laden sidewalk, then her mom and uncle would still be around. At the thought of her relatives, her lips rolled deeper into her mouth, pinched between her angry teeth.

When she was little, her mom and uncle would tell her stories about angels. That they hid among humans and protected everyone, which she now knew was complete shit, but as a little kid, it made it easier to sleep at night. Throughout her childhood, men and women in long white dresses with grand, sweeping wings danced through her daydreams and bookcase.

Sucking in a quick, deep breath, Chloe jogged across the street quickly and crossed the snow-wet grass. Her sneakers and the ends of her pants were frigid and wet as she walked across the lawn of the cemetery weaving between the crooked headstones as she looked at the names.

Nelson...Patterson...Ricci... _Saunders_. Her stomach lurched like it always did as she wiped away the weeds that were crawling from the snow-covered ground, sneaking in the breaks of the stone. Her sigh came out as a misty cloud as she knelt down, wiping away the snow that had wedged itself in the engravings of their names.

Chloe rubbed her cold hands along her face, pushing her hair out of the way with a scowl. The whole saying "time heals wounds" had been a complete lie. It had been five years since she lost them and the hurt never went away; if anything, the gaping hole festered and was slowly rotting, infecting her.

"Hey," she said quietly, running her thumb across the dates of their deaths with a sad, tiny smile. "Sorry I didn't come out yesterday. Lauren wanted some good old family bonding. You know, shopping. Of course, Dad didn't come; he said, and I quote, 'I have some work things to do,' which I know is code for _I don't care._ "

A mirthless laugh bubbled out of her as she smashed some icy chunks between her fingers. "I swear, he thinks stores are the worst thing ever. He buys everything off Amazon now. It's gotten ridiculous, to be honest. I'm pretty sure he's turning into a hermit, but of course Lauren doesn't care. Oh, did I tell you Amber whacked off all her hair? Gave to that hair charity that you liked." Another laugh, this one filled to the brim with sadness.

She grew quiet, her jaw tight, and then she got to her feet. Her knees hurt, and her hands had gone numb; she could hardly feel her cheeks anymore. "I gotta go," she said quietly, using the inside of her wrist to wipe away the tears that threatened to drip down her face. "Lauren will be _pissed_ if I don't come home before dark." She swallowed thickly, tracing the familiar curves and lines of their names before she turned away quickly and forced herself to walk away. If she had to choose, she'd spend her time freezing her ass off in the cemetery, talking like a crazy person to her dead mom and uncle.

The walk back was relatively calm; aside from the traffic and screaming of playing kids, nothing was out of the ordinary.

On a whim, she walked along the bridge, a cold breeze cutting through her heavy winter jacket, pushing her hair behind her as she strode briskly. The half-melted snow crunched under her sneakers, and she gazed out quietly at the blue-gray waters that always reminded her of her mom and aunt's eyes.

Sometimes, when she got really depressed, she thought about jumping. She thought about the bite of the rusty railing on her palms as she scrambled over the bar, of the terror and the pounding of her heart when her feet touched the lip of the road that hung a few inches passed where the railing ended. She thought about the icy wind piercing her clothes as she gathered her courage and then jumped, the wind whipping her hair against her skull, her scream making her head thump.

She clenched the railing, the rough edges of the paint flaking off onto her skin, and drew a deep breath. Icy air filtered into her lungs, cutting off the edge of her depressing thoughts and morbid fantasy.

"Hey." The voice was deep, dark, and, most importantly, _pissed._

Mindful of the snow and ice, she turned and saw a man standing a few feet away. Even with the space between them, she could see he was tall and imposing. "What do you want?" she asked flatly and then realized her defensive tone admittedly wasn't the best way to respond to him; he probably thought she was thinking of jumping. Which, truthfully, she _had_ been, but not seriously.

When he stepped closer, she couldn't help but step backwards. The railing bumped into her lower back, and her left foot slipped a tiny bit, making her heart stutter.

"Easy now," he snapped, his eyes shifting between her feet and the river behind her.

Annoyance filtered into her system. "What's your problem?" she asked, trying to stealthily side-walk out of his range. Her stomach was twisting at the way he kept his hands up, like he was talking her off the edge, and she stepped forward, ready to sprint home. Unfortunately, she hadn't seen the patch of ice underneath and pitched backwards, losing her balance with a girlie yelp.

"Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?" the guy demanded, his eyebrows slanting over his eyes.

Chloe sputtered at the accusation. "What's your _deal_? Even if I _was_ , it's none of your business." The railing dug into her back uncomfortably, and she could faintly hear some sort of creaking. A prickly dread ran up her spine, ominous.

The guy glared at her. "So you're just gonna jump? Over what? Some guy not liking you back? Life got too hard? Too real?" he spat.

That _really_ pissed her off; even if she _was_ going to jump, he had no right to stand there and talk down to her, making her feel two inches tall, acting like she couldn't be upset or suicidal if she wasn't being beaten, raped, or worse.

Her teeth clicked and ached when she ground them. "Listen, you rude asshole—" she started, her voice low and angry, but, as she stepped forward, her foot hit that same patch of ice _again_ , only this time her balance threw her backwards into the railing...and the metal gave way. That was what had been creaking.

She barely had the chance to suck in a breath before the water smashed into her back, and the force of her fall pushed her deep into the raging waves.


	2. II

Dark Angel

II

Chloe was pretty sure she was dead. At the very least, unconscious.

Why? Simply because she was warm, boiling even, and last time she checked, the water she'd fallen into had been _freezing._ Defiantly not what you wanted to take a dip in after a few days of snow.

The sounds of wind rustling made her open her eyes, not because the sound scared her, but because she wanted to know where she was that would have wind. A dark-gray sky greeted her, heavy with low-hanging clouds that threatened rain. Huh. She had been expecting eternal sunshine and heavenly song, not a dark sky.

"Oh, you're _finally_ awake. Took your time coming around, didn't you?" a man's voice sneered.

She sat up slowly, her entire body aching like she'd been hit with a car and turned her head first to the left, spotted nothing but gold stalks of wheat woven with tall grass, and then right. The shriek that had been built up got caught somewhere between her lips and her throat. If she was dead, shouldn't she be the only person there?

The man from the bridge sat next to her, looking extremely angry.

"Wh-where am I?" she asked, her stutter shining through. Her clothes were wet and hung heavy on her frame, her hair limp around her face despite the heat around them.

The man scowled, several pieces of dark hair falling into his wide face, and stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets like a reluctant teenager. His shoulders were raised to ears as he rocked backwards. Paused, looked around, and then whispered mockingly, his words dripping with condescension, "Crossroads." He sat back, his expression still stormy, and stood still, like a statue.

"Cr-crossro-oads?" she repeated numbly, squeegeeing some water out of her wet hair as she shakily climbed to her feet. She swayed when she stood straight, her legs weak and wobbly, but the man made no move to help steady her.

"Did I stutter?" he snapped, his eyes meeting hers, and she found his irises were green, the most peculiar shade she'd ever seen. She would've found him striking, not incredibly attractive but a kind of peculiar that made you stare, had his looks not been ruined by his shitty personality.

His mockery of her speech impediment pissed her off. "What is your _problem_?" she demanded, pushing her clumpy hair away from her face as she stepped closer. "Does it make you feel better to mock other people? What seriously crawled up your ass and died?"

He opened his mouth to respond, his eyebrows still knotted over his deep-set eyes, but the ground began to shake. Thunder rumbled, and the sky turned darker, so dark it looked like the night sky. Lightening, purple-white, cracked across the clouds, illuminating them. "Shit," he grunted as he grabbed her arm, his grip too tight and his nails too long, and started to tug her.

"What're you doing? What's happening?" she asked as she tried to dig her heels in the ground but, judging from his heavy bulk, he outweighed her by about one hundred pounds and dragged her along easily.

The guy stopped so suddenly that she ran into his back and bounced off, dropping flat onto her ass.

Rubbing her now smarting ass, she glared up at his black-haired skull. "What the _hell_?" she snarled, pushing herself quickly to her feet, and froze when he swept an arm behind him and blocked her advance.

"Get back," he ordered darkly.

" _Who_ do you think—" she started, trying to move past his arm, but he turned and _snarled_ at her, his lips curled away from his teeth, and her brain short circuited with fear. She stepped away, catching a glimpse of a whispery, dark shape in front of the jerk, and then turned on her heel, praying she didn't slip or something, and _ran_ like her life depended on it.

The ground shook violently, throwing her off balance, and she smashed into her ground painfully, half-hidden rocks scraping into her palms.

"Chloe!" It was the man, she saw as she turned her head, running top speed at her; there was something gaining on him. He had this dark look on his face. "Choose! Earth or here!"

Earth or here…? _What is he talking about?_

"Home," she muttered, staring in surprise at the bright beads of blood welling up inside the scrapes. A sharp stinging startled her, and she came to the conclusion she'd gone crazy, or, at the very least, was having an insanely vivid hallucination.

The man was running still as she stared still at the blood, pooling in the creases of her palm. Her lungs froze in that moment, and she started to panic as her skin prickled, and her head started to pound. Black spots filled her vision.

"Chloe!"

Her eyes shot open, and she jerked away, gasping for breath as she clawed at her chest. A man loomed over her as she rolled onto her side, acutely aware of the burning in her palms and puked what was in her mouth. All that come out was grimy, mucky water, and she heaved, and heaved, and heaved, until all that was left was air. Her mouth felt swollen and her throat raw.

"Chloe."

She flopped down onto her side and heard the distant sound of an ambulance approaching quickly. Her eyelids weighed a thousand pounds and slowly slid shut, even as a heavy hand squeezed her arm tightly and shook her.

Everything became fuzzy and out of focus. A women's voice, something burning touching her. A sharp prick in her arm. The fading sound of a man's voice.

* * *

The distinctly electronic beep of what she assumed was a heart monitor greeted Chloe when she slowly woke up. She felt like hell; every muscle in her body was tender, her head felt like it was full of cotton, and her mouth tasted like grit. The sounds of coughing, someone's equipment going off, and the smell of antiseptic told her she was, undoubtedly, in a hospital.

Breathing through her nose, she tried not to think of the last time she was in a hospital and listened to the heart monitor's pitch grow less hectic and pitch gradually lower.

"Chloe."


	3. III

Dark Angel

III

Opening her eyes slowly, she stared up at the tiled ceiling before turning her head slowly, mindful of the ache in her neck when she did so.

An imposing, hulk of a man slouched in the chair just inside the reach of the light from the hallway. The slight light put his features into half-shadow, drawing her eyes to his crooked nose and high cheekbones. "You took your time, didn't you?" he muttered without looking up from playing with a tear in his jeans.

"Ex—" she started but her voice gave out, weak and raspy, and she reached for the paper cup and pitcher of water on the nightstand beside her. What caught her attention wasn't the purple-blue hue of her fingers or the gauze on her right hand; it was the brace her wrist was encased in. Her hands were scraped raw.

"You twisted it when you fell."

She swung her head back to the man. "Why are you here?" she whispered as her sore fingers wrapped around the railing, her other hand reaching for the little Dixie cup on the nightstand beside her.

In the blink of an eye, the man was out of his seat and pouring her a cup of water.

A chill drizzled down her back. "What..." she rasped, her eyes wide as he turned to her. The intensity in his eyes made her want to shrink back, but she squared her jaw and stayed upright. "What _are_ you?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice and heartbeat steady.

Rubbing her thumbs across the rough, scratchy fabric of the blankets, she breathed deeply. "Humans can't move that fast," she said in a low voice, "so that's one thing."

" _Very_ observant," the man sneered. His mouth thinned as he regarded her apprehensively. "You don't need to know," he replied finally, pushing the cup at her.

She blinked, not having noticed he'd been holding it the entire time, and took it gingerly. If she looked closely, she noticed the rough, irritated patches on his face— _acne_. He wasn't a man at all, she realized, but a _boy_.

He tilted his head down, his eyes roaming over her, and then he turned and sat down in the chair. Bracing his forearms against his thighs, he watched her without an inkling of guilt over staring.

She took a tentative sip of the water, despite the metallic taste, and drained the cup in a few seconds. "Where's my aunt?" she asked after she set the cup down next to her leg, ripping the folded lip carefully.

The man— _boy_ , she corrected herself—shrugged and crossed his arms.

Chloe was just laying back down, her lids heavy and kind of itchy, when the door opened. The familiar aroma of dried herbs and tea blew into the room, and she sat up quickly. She winced at the dull throb that pulsated through her entire body but turned her head anyway.

Lauren stood there, her face gray and pinched, her bony hand clutching the edge of the door. Her hair hung around her face, unusual for her, and it gave her a youthful, sorrowful look that Chloe had never seen. When her eyes landed on Chloe, her hands left the door and covered her mouth, any color draining from her face, and her eyes went wide.

"Oh," she said in a choked voice.

Chloe sniffled and that seemed to break the spell.

Lauren rushed forward and threw her thin arms around the girl's neck, practically strangling her.

"Lauren, _please_ , you're strangling her," sighed a voice and, over her aunt's shoulder, Chloe saw her dad step in lightly. He looked tired, his face crinkled and his hair wild.

Lauren pulled away with a loud sniffle, and her lips thinned as a slow sadness veiled her bloodshot eyes. She muttered something under her breath and turned into the bathroom located just inside the room. The door clicked shut.

"Hi, baby," her dad said weakly.

"The doctors said you're lucky to be alive," the boy in the chair informed her.

Chloe watched her dad jolt, doing a double-take when he saw the boy. "I didn't see you there," her dad explained uneasily, his face tight as the boy shrugged and unfolded his arms. "Thank you."

The boy's face slackened briefly, so faint Chloe thought she'd imagined it, and then he nodded.

"I can't thank you enough," her dad said, his voice thick as his eyes pivoted to her, "she's all I have and if she...if you hadn't dove in after her, I don't know what I would've done." His familiar eyes softened and grew a bit misty as he patted the boy on the shoulder, squeezing affectionately.

His jaw tense, the boy nodded again, his eyes locked on the door.

Just as her dad settled down, the door opened, and a dark-haired doctor stepped in lightly, followed by a nurse in pink scrubs. "Ah," said the nurse, picking up the chart and reading something.

"That was quite a fall you took, Chloe," the doctor said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a pen that doubled as a flashlight. "Are you experiencing any dizziness? Shortness of breath? Pain anywhere?" he asked as he shone the light into her eyes, and she followed his finger.

"I'm achy all over. Falling into a river from a six-story height does that to you," she muttered, earning a sharp look from her dad. She thought since she survived, she was allowed to be a bit of a bitch. "But I'm not dizzy or breathless. A bit sleepy and sore like you wouldn't believe. I feel like I've gotten hit by a steamroller."

The doctor nodded. "That's expected. You were under for three minutes, which normally isn't cause for concern, but the weather and the way you hit..." he trailed, his weather-brown face creased with worry, but then he shook his head. "You're very lucky to be alive."

"I don't _feel_ lucky; I feel sore." She let her head fall back, glaring up at the ceiling tiles.

"We'll give you something for the pain, and it may put you to sleep. Just to make sure you don't go into shock or have a concussion, we're keeping you over night. If you're okay in the morning, we'll discharge you," the doctor explained gently, said something to the nurse Chloe didn't catch, and offered to show her father the cafeteria.

Her dad ran a hand through his hair. "I'll get some coffee for Lauren and I," he said absently and kissed her long on the forehead. The smile he threw over his shoulder on the way out was thin and tired-looking.

"He's worried about you," the boy told her, as though she was too dim to catch on.

Chloe turned her head towards him and glared. "I know, I may be blonde but I'm not _that_ dumb. Why are you even here anyway?" she demanded angrily as she gingerly adjusted the blankets around her waist.

When he didn't answer, Chloe looked up, scowling because he was staring at her without a word. "Why are you here?" she asked again, but he didn't answer, instead turning his attention to the fresh snow falling. Huffing, she burrowed under the covers and closed her eyes.

A nurse came in a few minutes later, gave her a shot, and then left. As the medication rippled through her body, dulling the pain, she found it harder and harder to just lie there without falling asleep.

The sound of a door opening and the smell of her aunt's perfume were the last things she noticed before the welcoming darkness enveloped her like before.


	4. IV

Dark Angel

IV

An all-encompassing cold surrounded Chloe as she slowly woke up. She was still sore, but it wasn't as bad as before, and she could move, if not a bit stiffly. Her teeth chattered, and the sound was deafening in the silence.

"Good morning, Chloe," Lauren said brightly as she stepped in.

Chloe squinted up at the clock with blurry eyes. "It's just barely ten," she groaned incredulously, "so why am I awake?" Sitting up, she looked around, half-expecting the boy from the bridge to be there still, and sighed in half-relief and half-disappointment when she found he wasn't.

"You're being discharged, honey. And Derek, our transfer student, is kind enough to help get you in the car," Lauren explained, smiling as she opened the door.

"That's nice—wait, _transfer student_?" Chloe echoed incredulously, her mouth popping open. "Si-since when did we—"

Darkening the doorway was the boy from the bridge, wearing a dark-purple sweatshirt and carrying a Styrofoam cup. His hair was wet and beads of water dripped down his broad face, dampening the collar of his sweatshirt.

"Oh! _There_ you are, Derek. I was just about to head down to see where you were," Lauren admitted as she peered around him.

Derek stepped into the room, moving like a massive shadow, and dropped a pile of fabric into Chloe's lap. When she opened her mouth to ask him what it was, the look he gave her made her rethink her question.

As he lumbered away, she swung her legs over the bed and slowly pressed weight on her cold feet. When her legs didn't give way, she carefully made her way to the bathroom, bundle tucked in her arms, and shut the door behind her.

"Chloe? If you need any help, just call, okay?" Lauren offered.

Chloe hummed in response as she unfurled the sweatshirt. It wasn't something she'd wear at all; cotton-candy blue and tight across the chest. There wasn't a doubt that her aunt picked out her clothes. The jeans were cute, if not a bit long and hard to get past her butt that had grown too big since she turned fourteen. _Flat everywhere else except your ass_ , she laughed to herself.

Her muscles protested and throbbed with dull pain as she slipped off the hospital gown slowly. Her toes curling against the icy tiles, she tugged on the jeans one-handed, mindful of her sprained wrist, and jumped a few times to get them past her butt.

When she was done, she leaned against the counter to catch her breath and noticed the gleaming chain wrapped delicately in the fabric of the sweatshirt. The metal jarred her memory, and she reached for her necklace, only to find empty, metal-less skin instead.

Unease filled her as she dropped down and hurriedly unfolded the sweatshirt. Her anxiety ebbed as she picked up the chain and pulled it over her head. The familiar weight of the pendant made her stomach stop twisting, and she squeezed the sweatshirt over her head, careful not to bump her braced wrist on anything.

"Chloe? Your father's here," Lauren informed Chloe sullenly, and the blonde sighed heavily.

Hell would freeze over sooner than her aunt acting civil towards her dad; things hadn't been as bad when her mom was around—she sort of acted like a buffer—but after she died, everything pretty much went to shit.

Flicking some water from the tap across her face and smoothing some of the gnarled bed hair sticking up, Chloe opened the door to find her father and Lauren stand on opposing sides of the room.

They were adults; couldn't they at least _act_ like they liked each other? The constant bickering and half-veiled jabs were enough to drive anyone to insanity.

Including her. _Especially_ her.


	5. V

Dark Angel

V

"So you're our exchange student, huh?" Chloe said to Derek as she nearly bumped into him; she hadn't seen him lurking close to the bathroom.

He turned to her, his eyes piercing her. There wasn't an answer, so she started for the bed to pull on her shoes, but then he grunted.

"Thanks for saving me, Derek."

When she didn't get a reply, she sighed, sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled on her sneakers one-handed. "How long do I have to keep the brace on?" she asked flatly, her eyes on her aunt.

"Until your wrist is healed. Considering how badly it's sprained, it'll most likely take a couple of weeks, a month or two at the most," Lauren explained cheerfully, stepping across the room quickly to help Chloe tie her shoes like she was a little butter-fingered girl again.

Chloe's cheeks seared with heat at the mocking look Derek shot her way. "Do you have my phone? I wanna call Tori and let her know what's up," she admitted, tearing her eyes away from the condescending boy.

"I think it's at home," Lauren muttered, straightening from the ground.

The blonde felt bad for her aunt doing her shoes when, while a bit crippled, she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. She had a sprained wrist, not paralysis.

"Dr. Fellows? Steve Saunders? I need you to look over some paperwork so Chloe can be discharged," said a helpful nurse, her eyes cutting between Chloe's dad and her aunt.

Her father was first out the door, quickly followed by Lauren.

The door had just barely swung shut before the blonde turned to Derek and said, " _Exchange student?_ How'd you manage to convince them _that_?"

He raised both brows at her but otherwise remained silent. There was a little throw of his jaw forward, a tightening around his eyes.

"So you saved me, okay, that's fine. I'll forever be in your debt. But you claim to be an exchange student, and they have no problems whatsoever?" she said, pushing a finger at him.

He sneered, his lips pulled away from his teeth in a manner that would've been comical had it not been so scary, and a low rumble eased out of him. "Don't question me," he ordered, his eyes meeting hers; they were piercing and angry, cast in the shadow of the slant of his brows.

"I will when I have no idea _what_ you are, or _what_ you're trying to do, or, hell, even _why_ you're here in the first place! You didn't _have_ to save me; you seem like you couldn't care less." She knew she was being an ungrateful brat, so she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, feeling the blood pound in her ears.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I'm just...so jumbled, it's hard to tell which way's up or down. Thank you, you know, for saving my life." She ran both hands through her hair, winced and dropped the injured one back into her lap, and then she caught sight of his expression and continued, just as quietly, "I mean it. _Thank you_. Without you, I'd be dead or in a coma. I won't push you for answers you clearly don't want to give."

He watched her with apathetic hawk eyes without another word.

Sighing to herself, she fell backwards onto the bed and looked up at the flickering lights. The buzzing drew her mind back to the last time she was in the hospital, when she was a little girl again, the sound of a heart monitor flat-lining so loud and angry.

The sudden memory sucked any breath from her lungs, bringing the sting of upcoming tears.

A lullaby sort of quiet descended over the room, the only sound being her short sniffles. Her face felt hot, too hot, so she pressed her blazing cheek into the cold pillowcase. She closed her eyes against the slew of tears gathering, scalding and angry.

"Here."

Something cold pressed into her temple, and she lifted her head, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. Derek's heavily-veined hand lay open, holding a cellphone.

"Call your friend."

Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she thanked him quietly and sat upright, taking it from him. Their hands touched, but if it bothered him, Derek made no indication.

Her shaking fingers pressed the home button, and a pass code popped up.

Derek sat back down in his chair from before, crossing his long legs at the ankle and letting them drape across the aisle where people would walk. "The pass code is one-five-six-three." He unerringly met her gaze, unashamed of his staring.

The phone rang three times before Tori picked up with a huffy, "Bitch, you better tell what the hell happened before I wax your eyebrows while you sleep."

That made a laugh burst out of her, reedy and thin, but a laugh nonetheless. "I'm calling off of Derek's phone, but I'm getting out of the hospital. I fell off that bridge by the cemetery, and he saved me." She wasn't sure if she should tell Tori about the crossroads or his super speed, but she needed to know that she wasn't having delusions first.

"Derek who?" Tori demanded.

"The guy who pulled me out of the river. I didn't exactly ask for his name or social security number."

"I guess I'll have to thank him for saving my guinea pig," Tori taunted, but Chloe could hear the double-edged sword of worry and relief in her voice. "Can I tell everyone?"

"Sure. I've also got a brace. Sweet, huh?"

"Yeah. If it was a cast, I'd sign, 'Wow, you didn't die.'"

Chloe snorted as someone knocked on the door. Her dad poked his head in. "Aw, I love you too, babe. I gotta go. Drop by the house later, okay? Bring some Ben and Jerry's. Lauren got that vegan, organic crap again."

Tori laughed as she promised to do just that and hung up.

"Thank you." The strawberry-blonde handed the phone back to the hulking boy sitting in the chair, who was watching her father with an odd expression.

His brows were heavy and slanted, but his lips didn't seem as tight as before.

She couldn't help but wonder why that was.


	6. VI

Dark Angel

VI

The ride home was quiet, interrupted only by stopping for gas ten minutes into the drive and for some breakfast from a fast food place, so Chloe slept for most of the drive.

She woke up a few times, however, and each of those times, she saw Derek watching her. Their eyes met, but he never looked away as most normal people would. She had to remind herself that he _wasn't_ normal, as evidenced in the hospital room with his speed, so she looked away and fell asleep, pulled under by the exhaustion tugging at her.

"Chloe."

A warm hand shook her gently, and she opened her eyes blearily, spotting her aunt leaning over her. She adjusted herself, ignoring the painful crick in her neck, and unbuckled carefully, wincing when she bumped her braced wrist on the edge of seat buckle.

"We're home. Can you walk?"

She nodded and eased out of the seat with wobbly legs. Standing there to make sure they didn't buckle underneath her, Chloe spotted Derek's imposing figure in the guest bedroom window, watching her. When he saw she saw him, he merely blinked and sat down on something she couldn't see, probably a chair or something.

Expectantly, she was annoyed. What was his _deal_? He'd been staring at her since she woke up in the hospital, and it was starting to get really, _really_ weird.

Scowling to herself, she closed the door and walked carefully up the driveway and the walkway, mindful of the loose bricks that would constantly trip her up even if she wasn't doped up on whatever they gave her in the hospital. Instead of going up the stairs to her room, she kicked off her shoes and headed to the couch in the family room.

It was easier than stumbling up the stairs to her room, and she fell asleep the minute her head hit the armrest.

* * *

The sound of pans banging loudly woke her up, and her stomach rolled painfully as she opened her eyes. Sweat dampened the back of her shirt, and her wrist was throbbing painfully as she pushed herself upright with her good arm.

Smacking her lips, she turned and spotted her aunt sitting at the kitchen table, talking quietly into the phone while she added lemon to her morning tea. Her eyes drifted to the kitchen and saw a broad back and even broader shoulders. Derek.

"Oh, you're awake. Are you feeling okay? Does your arm hurt?" Lauren asked, setting her mug to the side and getting up from the table. Her ponytail swung back and forth, and she wiped down her scrubs absentmindedly.

Chloe blinked hard, squashing the tidal wave of disappointment. Oh, _oh._ You'd think her aunt would stay after she almost died of hypothermia, but nothing short of death could keep Lauren away from her job.

"Where's Dad?" Chloe asked, looking at her aunt's pager, counting down until it went off.

Lauren shot her an apologetic look before answering it.

The girl scowled inwardly, turning her attention to Derek, who was puttering about the kitchen. Grease sizzled and crackled. Was he making breakfast?

He turned, placing what looked like a plate on the counter before his eyes snapped up to meet hers. "Your dad ran to the store." A shrug, as though he couldn't care less, and then he continued cooking.

She eased herself off the couch, curious. "Are you making breakfast?"

Her question didn't deserve the dark, angry look it got. "No," he drawled without looking up from the stove, "I'm making arts and crafts."

She frowned at him. "No need to be an ass first thing in the morning," she grumbled. "It's too early for your crap."

He glanced at the clock on the stove. "It's afternoon," he pointed out.

Lauren tucked her pager into her pocket and turned back to Chloe. "Sorry," the older woman apologized, "but they—"

At that point, Chloe blocked her out; it didn't matter that she had almost died yesterday, the hospital would always come first. She felt her head nodding, her mouth moving, a smile, words spilling out, cheerful and artificial, but her aunt was already out the door.

The blonde jumped when the front door slammed.

Derek paused, turning his head to watch her over his shoulder, and then asked, "Does she do that a lot? Leave like that, even after something like yesterday?"

She swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. It had always bothered her that neither her aunt or dad could be bothered to stay home when she was sick or hurt, but now it was like she was being stabbed with a serrated knife; it hurt down to the bone, a deep-seeded pain.

She could've died, and she had a strong hunch her father and aunt wouldn't even notice.

Her wrist throbbed as she plopped into a chair at the head of table—where her dad sat, when he was actually home—and blinked away the onslaught of hot tears. "Yeah," she croaked, "all the time."

Derek didn't respond after that, only returned to cooking, and she felt a tear drip out of her eye and down the side of her nose. She wiped away sharply, relishing in the painful throbbing of her wrist.

She was debating on going upstairs and getting ready when she felt something brush her shoulder and turned to see Derek placing something in front of her, his arm outstretched.

He'd placed a plate of hash browns, bacon, and an omelet with what looked like bell peppers in front of her and sat down where her aunt would sit sometimes without a word.

Unlike with her family, she didn't find the urge to fill the silence.


	7. VII

Dark Angel

VII

After she finished the slightly dense omelet and bacon he'd made for her and eaten most of the hash browns, she was embarrassed to find she desperately needed a shower but was unable to climb the stairs on her own. While she didn't want to ask Derek for help because she knew she being a bother to him, she also was pretty sure she wasn't able to do it on her own, even with the banister.

As she debated internally, Derek turned to her, raised a brow, and said, "You need to shower, don't you?"

Her cheeks blazed as she nodded.

"Then just ask. I'd rather get it over with then have you standing there, fidgeting like a third grader that has to pee but doesn't wanna ask. I won't bite."

Her reply came easily and quickly. "From what I hear, that's a good thing."

When he didn't reply, she was worried she went too far but then she saw the slight dip of a dimple on the side of his cheek and knew she was in the okay.

The walk up the steps was a bit laborious because she was still really wobbly from the pain medication and had to lean heavily on him. Since there was a wall to lean on so she could get to her room and to the bathroom and back, she assured him she was fine and she'd holler if she needed him.

He gave her a dubious look before he went back downstairs, claiming he'd be cleaning up the kitchen.

Chloe was proud to walk herself to her room, thankful the door was left open, and awkwardly pulled out some clean panties, a loose sweatshirt, and some pajama pants. She folded them across the arm with the brace and headed into the bathroom.

Kicking the door shut, she debated on locking it and decided against it. It's not like Derek would come up and try to peep; he'd made it clear he barely even tolerated her breathing the same air as him. Once she stripped down, she turned on the water and brushed out her hair.

In the mirror, she looked waxy and tired, with limp hair that hung crookedly off her shoulders. Her reflection reminded her of the hospital trips, of the quiet figure on the bed that crackled when she climbed up next to it, and she turned away before she could break down.

Chloe stuck her foot in the warm water, turned on the shower head, and stepped under the warm spray. Letting her hair get soaked, she scrubbed herself down and watched all the grime run down the drain with satisfied hum. Once she was done, she turned off the water and slid open the shower door.

That's when she slipped and banged her arm hard with a fleshy, wet thwack that had her yelping loud enough to be heard throughout the house. Pain vibrated up and down her entire arm, all the way to her shoulder, and she lay there, strewn haphazardly across the wet bathtub floor.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs as she lay there, her arm throbbing so badly it made her cry silently.

"Chloe?" It was Derek's rumbling voice.

"I-I'm—" she tried, but the pain stole her voice away, and embarrassment and shame crept up on her like a blanket.

"You fell, didn't you? Damn it." He sighed as the door opened, closed. There was a rustle, but she made no move to open her eyes, instead burying her face deeper into her uninjured arm to hide the fact she had tears in her eyes.

Cold air brushed her skin, and her face flamed. She felt something dry drape over her and strong, hard hands wrap around her, pulling her upright more gently than she would've thought he would. He even helped her out of the tub, his eyes on her face when she finally looked up at him, praying she wouldn't start crying.

"Next time, don't try to be a martyr and end up just about fucking killing yourself," he snarled and then he turned and left. Before the door swung shut behind him, he said in a mocking tone that stabbed at her, "I _think_ you'll be okay dressing yourself."

The door slammed loudly behind him, shaking the mirror and rattling the walls. Left to her own devices, she couldn't stop the tears that dripped down her cheeks as her arm throbbed and pulsed, pain running up and down the entire length of her arm. She didn't know which was worse: the agony in her arm, making her hair prickle, or the humiliation of being seen naked by a guy who wasn't family.

Chloe wasn't sure how long she sat on the floor, but she heard the TV blaring downstairs, and when she looked out the too-high window, she saw it was beginning to get dark. Her skin had dried by this point, but her hair dripped continuously down her back as she dressed gingerly, sniffling. A glance in the mirror had her reeling backwards.

Bloodshot, puffy eyes, tear-patched cheeks, and shadows as dark as bruises. The tears started up again because she looked exactly like that ghost-white figure in the hospital bed from her childhood, the one that haunted her daily in quiet memories that oozed in at the slightest trigger.

Eventually, the tears stopped enough that she could head to bed without even saying goodnight to Derek because, well, he was an asshole.


	8. VIII

Dark Angel

VIII

The next morning, the sun streamed in broken lines through her window, cut into pieces by her blinds, and she groaned, pressing her face into the icy fabric of the pillowcase. Her wrist had kept her up well past two am, and she felt like shit.

The sound of birds was the only noise she could hear, so it was safe to assume her aunt had slept in the break room at work again and that Derek was either asleep or being very quiet.

For a long minute, she contemplated staying in bed all day, under the warm covers, to think about last night, but ultimately decided against it. She wouldn't let him ruin her day. It wasn't like she had _known_ she would slip, she told herself as she ripped back the covers, momentarily forgetting the injured arm. As she went to push herself up, a spasm of white-hot pain went up the arm, originating from the sprain, and she nearly crumpled back down.

Breathing deep, she cradled the arm against her chest and set about peeling off her sleep clothes and changing into a dark long-sleeved shirt and opted for yoga pants in place of jeans because God knew she wouldn't be able to button them.

She ran a brush through her gnarled, fine hair and brushed her teeth, straining to hear any signs of life from her "transfer student."

How he convinced both her aunt, who was suspicious of anyone with a penis that so much as breathed in Chloe's direction when she wasn't sleeping at the hospital, and her father, who rarely interacted with _anyone_ outside of the two of them, was beyond her. Still, it made a shiver run up her back to know that the boy who'd saved her from death wasn't _human._

A loud bang made her jump as she stepped out of the bathroom, making her bump her shoulder on the corner of the door. "Shit," she muttered as she peered down the hallway, spotting the usually closed door of the guest room wide open. Cautiously, she headed down the hallway to get a peek.

The room was barely furnished, a bed covered with a solid-colored duvet. No pictures, no books, no shoes, no clothes. No personality. She expected some clothes, a hint of what he was really like, but there was nothing—absolutely empty.

His bed was made military-style, not a ruffle in the comforter, and the pillow was aligned with the edge of the bed exactly in the center. A pair of sneakers, black and chunky, sat at the end of the bed, carefully tucked out of the way.

Despite having been not used in the many years she'd been in the house, there wasn't a speck of dust on the desk or dressers; had he dusted?

"Sneaking into my room. Most guys would be ecstatic, but I can't say I am," Derek said flatly, and she whipped around with a yelp.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "W-we-ell, i-it is-s my hou-ouse, after all," she managed around the frightened stutter that leaked around her words.

He shrugged. "How about I snoop around your room?" he suggested.

Lifting her chin up, she met his bored green stare. "G-go ri-rig-ght ahead," she said, and despite her stutter, her tone was unwavering and steady.

He watched her for a moment, his eyes boring into her, and then he turned and walked away. "I made some biscuits and gravy."

When she followed him, she checked in on her bedroom door. It was closed.

* * *

The day went on. Chloe was alone since Derek left not too long after breakfast. Left to her own devices, she lounged on the couch, taking Tylenol when the pain in her arm took her breath away. She ordered pizza for lunch and ate in silence in front of the television, even though she wasn't supposed to eat in the entertainment room.

Five-thirty came and went.

Still no Derek.

Lauren called to say she wasn't coming home, which was expected.

Derek showed up close to eleven-thirty while the tiny blonde was flipping through the murder mysteries. He slammed the door when he came in so she jumped and banged her shin on the leg of the coffee table. Turning around when she spotted his reflection in the television, any thought left her mind except _oh my god._

He, for a lack of a better term, looked like hell. Scrapes and red bruises soon to turn dark mottled his skin. His left eye was swollen and bloodshot. Dirt stained the knees of his jeans, and he was wearing only one shoe. Blood dripped from his split knuckles, and his teeth were streaked with red when he saw her and sneered, "What're you looking at?"

"What the hell happened? You look like shit," she blurted, unable to help herself.

His good eye focused on her, narrowed. He blew out an angry breath through his nostrils. "None of your damn business." When he pivoted, he stumbled, clutching the table for balance, only the table wasn't meant to be leaned on, and it toppled haphazardly. Her aunt's trinkets scattered and shattered.

Derek growled as the arm on the table folded in on itself. His legs seemed to give out too, and he nearly fell to the floor but caught himself, steeling his body before he connected with the floor.

Chloe got to her feet and hurried over, unsure of how to help considering her wrist, settling for hovering over him. "We have to get you to a hospital," she squeaked, touching his shoulder and pulling away at the icy temperature of his skin, burning her fingertips even muted by the fabric of his dark grey t-shirt.

His head jerked towards her. Despite his gruff tone, something familiar shone in his eyes: fear. He was _scared._ In a quick blink, the fear was overshadowed by a mask of indifference. "No. I don't do hospitals."

She backed off, unable to help, feeling helpless like all those years ago, when her mom was slowly dying. Her heart thumped as she watched him stand straight and walk away stiffly, his name caught in the confines her throat.

Just like then, she couldn't help.


	9. IX

Dark Angel

IX

Terrified for Derek, she called the only other person she could think of—Simon and Tori's dad, Kit, who had been a doctor before he became a lawyer. The phone rang for several beats, and she could feel her heart drumming steadily against her chest as her hands shook. Her breaths came in harsh pants that left her more light headed than calm.

"Chloe?" Kit's smooth, baritone voice made her hands relax, and she found her mouth moving, the words coming out before she'd really thought of them.

"M-My tr-transfer stu-udent c-came back a f-fe-ew minutes a-ag-g-go, and h-he's covere-ed in bl-lood. Scr-scraped up, and he sa-aid no ho-hospitals, and y-you-ou're the only o-on-n-ne I can tell. Please, c-co-om-come—come over," she pleaded breathlessly into the phone, her mind flitting a million places at once.

There was no sound from upstairs from Derek, and a nagging thought wiggled into her consciousness. What if he passed out?

"Transfer student? Honey, breathe. What happened?" he asked quietly.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay, s-so, a couple days ago, I almost drowned. He saved me, and he's been living with us. He left this morning, and didn't come back until now, and he's covered in blood and bruises, and he could hardly stand up, and I'm really scared, and you know Lauren's not here."

Lauren had lost the privilege of being called "Aunt Lauren" a long time ago.

"Did he slur in his speech? Where is he now?"

"Upstairs." She chewed her top lip nervously. "I don't think there was any slurring; he didn't really say a lot." A shard of her aunt's stupid figurines touched her bare toes, and she crouched down, picking several up and placing them carefully in the middle of her palm.

"Chloe, I'll be there in a minute, but please _check on him_. Make sure he doesn't go to sleep—he might have a concussion—and keep him occupied until I arrive," Kit replied, "and if his head's bleeding, use a towel to staunch it. Make sure he doesn't move his head around too much. I'll see you when I get there."

The call disconnected, and she rose, ignoring the shards littering the floor and now broken table—those could wait; Derek, however, couldn't. She dropped the shards in the waste basket on the way upstairs and hurried.

For once, the silence didn't comfort her, didn't ease her panic or worry, didn't soothe the raw nerves, and it made her walk all the faster, hoping she didn't trip on the top stairs as she usually did when she rushed upstairs. As she got to the top, she saw the guest door was firmly closed.

In a few fast, unsteady steps, she hovered outside his door, debating. What if he yelled at her like last night? What if he'd choked on vomit? Or lost consciousness?

Her hand shook violently as she knocked, both anticipating no response and dreading it. She was more than startled when his heavy voice answered, quiet and muffled.

"What do you want?"

She took that as an invitation to open his door, pausing for only a moment before she clasped the doorknob and pushed the closed door open. Tensing, she braced herself for the worst—Derek haphazardly sprawled across the bed, blood on the sheets, in and out of consciousness—and was again surprised to find him sitting on the floor, just as bruised and bloody as she recalled, his head lolling back and forth.

His good eye, the other one having swollen shut from a blunt forced trauma, narrowed suspiciously at her.

"I—I wanted to make sure you were okay," she answered, proud that her voice didn't shake and her stutter wasn't making her words unintelligible as it had moments prior.

He cocked his head, revealing a handprint the size of her hands wrapped around his neck. "Why?" The dark, oozing tone of his voice froze her, binding her to her spot. For a minute, she wasn't sure what he was referring to. _Why_ did she care? _Why_ did she chase after him? _Why_ wasn't she freaking out?

Licking her lips, Chloe stepped closer to him and sat down across from him. Now that she'd calmed a little, she could see the damage, cataloging the scratches and scrapes, the ginger way he held himself even as his entire body was tense and screamed anger, the expressiveness of the single, not swollen green eye that tracked her like a viper with prey.

A myriad of scratches and scrapes decorated his skin, morbid splotches of red against his pale skin, and she felt her stomach twist. Breathing deeply to fight the bile that was threatening to appear, she met his good eye calmly.

If he was surprised at her boldness, he didn't show it and reclined, wincing, as the cool metal of the frame pressed into his back. He was probably sore there too or at least injured.

"I see you called someone. How responsible of you, little girl."

His words stung, the mocking and condescending but his eye seemed to grow soft, hazy, speaking words his voice didn't. Chloe found she didn't care if he was a complete and utter dickhead to her—he was hurt, and she'd do her damndest to make him better, in any way she could.

Beth jokingly called her a bleeding heart, and until now, she'd never realized how much it was true.

So she straightened her shoulders and replied calmly, "I did. A friend's dad, who was a doctor." Not a tremor in her voice or stutter to be found. She was a little impressed with herself even. "He was very good at being a doctor."

He shifted, wincing as a dark spot bloomed along his side. "An ex-doctor. What the fuck is this? Grey's Anatomy?" he sneered, vitriol dripping from his words as his hard green stare bore into her.

She pulled herself to her feet without another word and headed for the attached bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an answer if he couldn't at least be the tiniest bit nice.

Closing the door behind her, she opened the linen closet and searched for a towel. After finding one, she headed back out. When she re-emerged, holding said towel, she was surprised to find Derek slumped over, his breathing sluggish.

Panic swamped her, and she stumbled in her haste to get to him faster, dropping to her knees in front of him. Her shaking hands lifted his face, his expression dazed and slack, pale.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs, but she didn't pay any attention to them; she tugged the limp boy into an upright position, wrenching the t-shirt off quickly, his left side slick with blood. A large, dark cut glimmered with his every breath, shifting and gleaming with fresh bouts of blood as he breathed.

"...Hurts..." he moaned, his voice raspy and weak, and she choked a noise. Was he going to die? _Could_ he die? With shaking hands, trembling so ferociously that she dropped the towel three times, she pressed it against the bleeding cut.

"Chloe."

Chewing her lips anxiously, her eyes burned with tears that fell unchecked down her face. She wiped at them absently and realized she'd streaked his blood across her skin.

"Let me see him."

"What the fuck happened?"

She twisted out of the way as gentle, steady hands calmly replaced hers, pressing on the towel to staunch the rapid flow of blood.

Tori stood in the doorway, her eyes suddenly wide with shock, mouth dropping open. Any color in her face drained out, leaving her ghostly white. Chloe imagined she looked the same as her friend and stood.

"Who...what..." Kit's comforting voice was thin and heavy with emotion she recognized immediately—grief and disbelief.

Chloe watched his face, the horror on his face, the shock. "W-wha-at's wro-rong?" she asked cautiously, a ball of dread forming in her stomach.

"Chloe, this is my son. My son Derek," he said.

"Son?" she croaked.

Tori and Simon never told her about a _brother._ But maybe there was a reason. There had to be a logical explanation, right?

Grief-stricken eyes rose up to meet hers, tears flowing down his china-white face. "He died, Chloe. He died a year ago."


	10. X

Dark Angel

X

Her mind spun wildly at his admission. Dead? Derek had died? Any strength in her legs left her, and she lowered herself gingerly to the floor.

Kit was Derek's dad? Who said he'd died? What did that make him? Just what the hell was he? A demon? A vampire? She wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in her throat and was trapped; only a gurgle came out, more like a burp than anything, and she hugged herself tightly. Vampires, demons...they did not exist. But just being around Derek proved there were things, monsters, demons, whatever they were, that wore human skin.

"He's not...human, I know that much, but to have died?" she muttered weakly to herself, blinking when a hand wrapped tightly around her arm.

Her legs shook but held as Tori helped her to her feet, avoiding looking directly at the limp boy.

"Derek?" Kit asked in a calm voice, medical, and none of his parental emotion showed through.

Derek opened his eye, unfocused and bleary, and spoke quietly, his voice thick through his split lip. "Dad," he breathed, his voice brimming with emotion he normally didn't show, and Chloe forced herself to look away.

Her stomach hurt.

"I'll try to patch him up, but I may have to take him to the—" he broke off then, refusing to say the word, and she realized maybe as a human, Derek had been afraid of hospitals even then. Her heart shattered at the sorrow on their faces, and she nodded numbly, letting Tori help her out of the room so Kit could fix him up the best he could.

The walk downstairs was daunting, and she slipped, unable to properly use her legs. Tori was half-carrying her when they got to the first floor, and the taller girl deposited her carefully into a chair.

"Chloe," her friend said, "what—just what happened on that bridge? Why is my dead brother in your guest room, bleeding all over the fucking place? _Why is he here_?" Kohl-lined eyes dripped black makeup down her cheeks, her teeth catching the nails on the hand that had anxiously drifted up, chewing them until they were short and ragged.

Her large breasts heaved with her shaking, labored pants.

The blonde stared up at her, and then down at her bloody hands. She'd never seen so much red, even on the worst days of her period, and she felt her stomach clench up, threatening to make her sick.

"I-I don't know," she rasped, her voice husky and scratchy. "I w-w-wa-as vi-vi-is-isi-i-iting m-my mo-o-om and B-Be-e-en, a-and y-you know—"

She drew in a deep breath to calm her nerves, her stutter grating, making her angrier and more upset than usual.

"—That bridge to get there? I was on it, and I thought about...about jumping. I wasn't going to actually do it, you know? But I heard someone y-yell at me, and I turned around, and there he was. He looked pissed at me, a-an-nd he started saying all these rude things. And then I slipped, and when I hit the railing, it b-br-ro-o-oke; I'd heard the creaking earlier but hadn't known what it was until t-then."

Tori sat down quietly, pulling the chair nearby in front of her friend and took her hands in hers, opening the bottle of Lysol wipes without a word. She was listening, like Chloe knew she would.

She continued. "And when I woke up, I was...somewhere else. It was warm, and there were trees, and there was _him_ , again, the guy from the bridge. He said I was at—cr-crossroads. Tori, when I hit the water, I drowned—I _d-_ _d_ _ied._ " Tears sprung in her eyes at the sudden revelation and trailed down her face.

The dark-haired girl squeezed her hands as Chloe scrubbed at them, struggling to get the blood off.

"And then something happened. It got really dark, and storm clouds starting rolling in. There was something in the field with us, and he told me to chose."

"Chose?" Tori echoed, plucking a wipe from the container and taking Chloe's hands to clean since the blonde's hands shook so badly.

"Home. Home or there. With that _thing_. Oh, I don't know what it was but all my hair stood on end, and it felt like—like I was going to _die._ But I heard someone scream my name, and when I came to, I was on the ground, and I was puking, and Derek was leaning over me."

Tori didn't speak after she finished speaking, focusing on the blonde's still-trembling hands, cleaning them in sure, clinical motions, under the nails and around the cuticles, but the disinfectant smell couldn't block out the stench of Derek's blood, the rusty scent that had her stomach cramping.

"Say that's all true."

Chloe jerked in surprise.

The brunette didn't even look at her as she plowed on. "Say it's all true. What does that make him? We all saw him die, Chloe, and now he's back, and he's not what he was—he's not _human_. What are we supposed to do with that? Oh, God, what's gonna happen when Simon finds out?"

"I didn't know. I never knew. You never said a word," Chloe whispered, her voice thin and reedy.

"It still hurts. Missing him. It never gets easy, Chloe."

Having lost both her mom and uncle, she knew all too well. While she didn't have a lot of memories of them, the ones she did have were cherished by her. A buttery laugh, gentle kisses to peeling sunburn, a warm hand clasping hers on either side, squeezed between the two of them to take a picture.

"If I had known..." she trailed off, letting the words hand. _If I had known, I wouldn't have called._

"He hates hospitals. Ever since he was a kid. No real reason," Tori said suddenly, "and any time he _had_ to go like when he broke his hand, Dad always let him get ice cream afterwards." Her mouth twisted a little, like she was fighting back a smile, and Chloe's hands stopped shaking.

Just as the blonde made to reply, a loud bang made both girls shoot to their feet, and they shared an anxious glance before bolting for the stairs. When Tori slipped on the last step, Chloe grabbed her arm and helped her up, and they both reached the guest door within seconds.

The door slammed open without either girl ever touching it, and a dark figure filled the doorway, blotted out any light streaming in from the windows.

"D-Derek?" she asked, already reaching for him, and he caught her hand tight enough for it to startle her.

His green eyes—both now, since the other one had already healed—stared down at her, incandescent, glowing like a wolf's in the light. The red marks and scratches were gone now, and the long cut that had refused to stop bleeding was a healing pink mark, like it had barely even broken the skin instead of gushing blood moments earlier.

A black, tribal-looking tattoo stretched across the expanse of his right pectoral, and it seemed to draw her in. It also looked familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd seen it; even so, now wasn't the time.

Just moments before, Derek had been unconscious and bleeding profusely, barely coherent, and now he was standing like he'd never been hurt in the first place, his glare boring into her eyes.

"Derek, where's Kit? What did you _do_?"

His mouth dropped open, and his voice came out low and heavy, harsh. He was angry with her, that was obvious but what for? Despite being fifteen and the niece of a seasoned doctor, she didn't know the first thing to do when he'd stumbled through the door!

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he demanded, his other hand grabbing her shoulder, but his grip was firm and gentle, belying his rage. "What were you _thinking_ , Chloe? Bringing _him_? _They can't know._ Fuck!" He pulled himself away and struck the wall, breaking the plaster and dry wall as easily as it were rice paper.

The pain, the anguish, the rage in his tone tugged at her.

She stumbled forward, stepping into the room for the first time since she'd left him in Kit's hands, and spotted the lawyer lying quietly on the floor, holding his head. "Oh my god, Kit!" In her haste to rush to him, she failed to notice Derek's hand until it was too late, wrapped around her arm firmly.

"Why did you bring him, Chloe? Are you torturing me?" he hissed, his eyes wet.

Chloe scoffed. "Torture you? Derek, you were bleeding out! Who else was I supposed to call? You saw my aunt leave like her ass was on fire the minute we got home, and my dad's probably in a meeting as usual. You think just because Lauren's a doctor that I automatically know what to do? Sure, with little things like burns or cuts, but not with someone beaten to the point where they can't stand on their own." She met his glare, rivaling it with her own.

Derek's lip curled. He was all bark and no bite. "Chloe," he tried, but his voice broke with emotion. Growling to himself, he unwrapped his hands from her arm and crossed them tightly and stiffly over his chest. Hunched over, glaring at the floor. "Chloe, my family can't know about me."

"Why, Derek? What's so bad about them knowing about whatever you are?"

He was silent, and she thought he wouldn't give her an answer. When he did, she had his father upright, and he was alert, if not suffering from a bit of a headache from where he'd hit his head.

"I didn't mean to hurt him. I just—he was there, above me, and I—my instincts kicked in, I guess." He scowled and scratched at his cheek, not even flinching when the acne his nails caught bled and dripped.

Tori spoke next, reminding them she was there, stepping into the room to face her brother. "What _are_ you, Derek?"

His answer chilled Chloe to the bone.

"I'm a fallen angel, Tori, and to know what I am, for you to even know I'm here, will end in your death by my hand."


	11. XI

Dark Angel

XI

The mundane sound of the garage door lifting broke the silence that descended, and she felt a wave of horror wash over her. Her _dad._ "H-he—" she croaked, her eyes wide and unseeing, even as Derek pulled on a t-shirt and knelt beside her.

"He's gonna be okay, Chloe." The dulcet tones of his voice brought her sharply back to reality, and the cold shock of his hands made her jolt away, wide-eyed.

She licked her lips, but even with the saliva lubricating them, her question still came out raspy. "W-what...what did you do to him?"

"I hurt him. I didn't—wasn't trying to. Just—reacted." His nostrils flared as he stroked his father's face with a single finger and closed his eyes, concentrating.

Kit sat up straighter and blinked several times when Derek's hand dropped away.

"How do you feel?" the boy asked quietly, his eyes flicking to Tori, standing behind Chloe, and then back to the man. For someone who'd been bleeding out a few minutes ago, he looked like he'd never even been injured.

The lawyer ran a hand through his long hair. "Fine." He peered up at his son with childlike wonder, awe, and then Derek turned away, standing.

"I wish it didn't have to be this way," he whispered, his voice tired and strained, the taut slope of his shoulders making Chloe nervous, "but it is. It has to be. That is the way it's supposed to be."

Chloe climbed to her feet, hesitating before touching his shoulder, and then sensation that rolled through her was so intense it hurt, and it stole the breath from her lungs, and when she came back, Derek's icy arms were around her.

"You shouldn't have done that. Damn it. You're so fucking stupid," he hissed, his face twisted, but his eyes spoke volumes; they gleamed and brimmed with concern and relief, even just for the briefest of moments. And then he turned to Kit, who was being helped up by Tori, and whispered something she didn't catch.

Their expressions went vacant, their eyes unfocused, and without another word, they walked out the door.

"What did you just do?" she asked, already twisting out of his arms, hearing her father greet Kit, who replied something friendly back. The door slammed, signaling their exit, and it felt like a guillotine had just been dropped. Her stomach twisted painfully. She wheeled on Derek, grabbing his arm tightly.

"What did you _do_?"

He sighed and placed his cold hand over hers, ignoring when she flinched at the shock of temperature. "I erased their memories, rearranged them."

"Why? Because you'd have to kill them like you said? But that's not fair! They just got you back," she said, her words spilling out.

Anger twisted his features, making him feral. She gasped and fell back, fear making her heart race. "Well, life isn't fair!" he snarled and stalked away, his footsteps thudding all the way down the stairs, and she stared after him.

Just what the hell happened?

* * *

A week. It had been a week since Derek wiped his father's memories, and he was ignoring her. Which suited her just fine; she didn't care. He wasn't bleeding out anymore, and he seemed perfectly fine—like he'd never been injured at all—so she wasn't too worried over the giant asshole.

Her classes dragged by sluggishly, and she threw herself into her school work, chatting with friends about tests and projects and quizzes.

Kari kept asking her questions about the book they were reading in English, a favorite of Chloe's from the very first page, about a man with two souls.

Balancing her drink in one hand and overflowing binder in the other, Chloe peered around for the over enthusiastic brunette, half-expecting to be tackled in a hug, which was Kari's standard greeting.

"Hey."

She turned to find Rae Rodgers behind her. Rachelle, who preferred to be called Rae, was a year ahead of her and captain of the volleyball team, which wasn't surprising if you glanced at her bronzed arms and muscles.

"Hey," she said, surprised because Rae had never even spoken a word to her outside of school assignments and the occasional hello or good morning.

The dark-skinned girl chewed her lip before she smiled, showing two rows of slightly off-white teeth that were straight. "Are you looking for Kari? She got detention. Something about her being loud in class."

Chloe sighed and offered a quirk of her mouth instead of a smile or grin. "An every day occurrence," she joked, feeling her good mood dissipate at the idea of being alone, "But thanks for telling me, Rae."

She smiled again before she turned way and walked off, back the way she came.

Watching her leave, the blonde sighed heavily before she turned to hide out in the library since she wasn't all that hungry.

"What the hell did you say to me?" a loud, boisterous voice demanded darkly, and she found herself turned back, watching the scene unfold.

Royce Banks was screaming at a much taller, much bigger boy, his face beet red. For a rather short guy, he certainly seemed to feel no fear towards the other boy, towering over him, as he shoved the guy again, sending him stumbling.

"I said," the taller guy began slowly, mocking, a condescending little in his words, and her stomach bottomed out, "to fucking _watch_ where you're going."

Her brain registered who it was faster than her heart, and she shouted the name, the syllables and vowel spilling out like vomit, and every eye turned to her, focused on her.

"Derek!"


	12. XII

Dark Angel

XII

His head whipped to the side, and his eyes flitted round, bouncing from face to face until they found her, staring at her in first surprise and then irritation, narrowing. She didn't care that he was angry with her, but his presence brought an onslaught of questions.

Why was he here, in her school? Being, if what he said was true, a fallen angel, wouldn't he not have to go to high school? Or did something happen to Lauren or her dad? Chloe's breath left her in a quick gust, panic forcing it from her lungs, and she walked quickly towards them.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her attention focused on Derek only, her hand clutching her backpack strap like a lifeline. "D-did something happen? Is my dad okay?"

He frowned at her. "They're fine. I'm enrolled here." _To keep on eye on you,_ he seemed to silently say.

She snorted, unable to help herself. A fallen angel attending high school. That was like something out of Twilight.

Royce spoke suddenly. "You're lucky your girlfriend's here to break it up, you prick," he sneered, raising his fist threateningly, like he was gonna hit Derek, but the angel didn't even flinch; he merely raised a brow, a mocking look on his face.

"I'm not his girlfriend," she blurted. He didn't even _like_ her.

The short boy paused for a moment before smiling charmingly at her. Hints of anger darkened his eyes still, and Chloe felt a shiver run up her back when Derek gripped her shoulder, the cool temperature of his skin sending goosebumps across her bare arms. "Oh, you're not?" he said coolly.

His eyes cut between the two of them. "Well, I guess I'll see you around." When he turned away, something must've changed in his expression because Derek's glare and scowl intensified; she wouldn't have been surprised if he started shooting lasers out of his eyes. Royce smirked and walked away, as though he hadn't been about to start a fight.

The cafeteria descended back into boisterous noise, and Derek had to yell in her ear to be heard.

"Stay away from him." His eyes had yet to meet hers, still trained unerringly on Royce.

Unconvinced, and a little irritated, she couldn't help the sneer that escape her, the mocking and condescending tone thrown right back into his face. "Why? Are you jealous?"

He pulled her to face him, his eyes boring into her. "Because he's a _demon_ , Chloe."

"But aren't you one, essentially?"

She pulled out of his hand, opening her drink to sip. His response made it slide down the wrong way, and she hacked wetly, spittle dripping down her chin.

"No, I'm still an angel. I still can kill the demons as I see fit. And right now, he's on my radar."

* * *

Chloe hated school yards. They were always the place for fights and make out, and today was no different. A couple was kissing passionately against the sun-baked brick wall, his hand up the other boy's shirt, and she froze at the sight of tidy blond spikes.

They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn't see her, and for that she was grateful. She'd spent the last few days with one of two's dead brother after all. Her feet dragged, slowing.

Simon Bae wasn't well-known to her, only a great artist and the boyfriend of one her close friends. He was nice, and he made really corny jokes about blondes all the time.

Her stomach clenched, and she gasped involuntarily; the noise drew the couple's attention and almond-shaped brown eyes met hers. Sweat sprung across her brow and lip, dampened the back of her t-shirt, and Nate pulled his shirt back down with a little snort of mortification.

"I didn't see you there, Chlo," he said, running his hands through his shoulder-length, tousled hair as he picked up his backpack.

When he made to go towards her, her heart kicked into high gear. Her breathing crept steadily towards hyperventilation. Try as she might, she couldn't tear her eyes away from Simon. Tori said he'd be devastated if he found out about Derek. What happened? How did Derek die? How did he become an angel of all things?

"Chloe, honey, is everything alright?"

Nate was staring at her as though her skin had turned purple. A breeze lifted his hair off his neck and blew the scent of his too-strong deodorant towards her.

A car honked as Simon began to close the distance, his stare making her stomach clench up, and she jumped, spun around. The hulking figure in the driver's side of a black ninety-sixty-seven Chevy Impala chased away her silly unease, and she smiled brightly at her friend and his boyfriend— _convincingly._

"That's my ride," she said, laughing.

Simon raised a brow. "Who? Is it Kari?" His smile was friendly enough, but not quite... _right._

Something about his tone unhinged her, and desperation and panic clawed at her. "No," she muttered, already backpedaling to the car, "they don't go to this school."

"Oh," Nate gasped, "is it a _boy?_ "

She laughed, uneasy.

"Chloe, get your ass in here. I don't have all fucking day," Derek said from inside the car.

Nate's laughing expression shifted into worry. His familiar eyes darted between hers before he placed a hand on either shoulder. "Sweetie, if you _ever_ need me" —he threw a glance at the car, obviously on edge— "I'm here. We _all_ are."

The swallow she managed was all dry air and crinkled all the way down her throat. "I know."

"Chloe!"

"Impatient asshole," she muttered, pulling away from Nate to hurry to the idling car and the irate driver. "Bye!" Throwing a wave over her shoulder, she climbed into Derek's car.

Half of the drive home was quiet, until he flicked on the radio. Sensing an opportunity to speak to him without human ears, she asked, "Where'd you get the car?"

No response, not that expected one; he was still giving her the cold shoulder.

"Fine." She opened her backpack and pulled out the dog-eared, well-loved book she had to read for class. Mentally, she reminded herself to check Amazon to see if they had a cheap copy of it in paperback and settled back into the seat, enjoying the feel of the sun warming her skin.

She opened the book and began to read, as the sun baked the car, and Derek rolled down the windows, and her hair whipped around her face.

"Bought it."

Startled, she dropped the book, cursing. Too lazy and unmotivated to retrieve it, she twisted her neck to look at him. "Oh," she said, " _now_ you're talking to me."

Scowling, he replied again. "You asked. I answered."

"After, like, a ten minute pause! That's rude."

He didn't have an answer, and they lapsed back into the silence that stayed for the remainder of the car ride home. When they pulled into the driveway, he surprised her by saying her name.

Half-way out the door, she stopped and looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Don't befriend Simon. For his sake." Something earnest glimmered in his green stare, honest and vulnerable, before it shuttered away into his deceptively cold mask.

Instead of acquiescing to his demand, she pressed. "Why?" Her hands plucked the book and her backpack from the floor and she bumped the door closed with her hip.

His reply made her feel like a horrible bitch. "Because I can't kill him. I can't kill any of them, and you befriending them with me here...that'll make it even harder. So just don't. You'll be doing both them and yourself a favor." Without another glance at her, he stalked up the path to the porch and the door slammed behind him once he got inside the house.

She winced and followed.


	13. XIII

Dark Angel

XIII

It was as she finished writing an exceptionally long-winded explanation of the latest chapter in the book that Chloe decided to take a shower. Her wrist still hurt, though not as badly as her last shower, and she wasn't doped up on drugs anymore.

Sure-footed, she reached for a pajama shirt and shorts.

Derek was back to ignoring her existence, which suited her just fine because he was an asshole when he wasn't, and she could hear the television blaring loudly. As soon as they got back home, he'd set to work fixing Lauren's baubles and the table without so much as a word about the day before.

She retreated upstairs to work on homework, but try as she might, she couldn't push what happened out of her mind. Derek's bloody reappearance, Kit's admission, Derek wiping his father and sister's memories...Pushing it from her mind, she headed into the bathroom, closed the door behind her, stripped and glanced at her reflection.

Her hair sprawled wildly across her shoulders, the worst case of bedhead she'd seen in forever, and she gingerly picked up a piece, feeling the grime and dirt there.

The water was lukewarm to her skin, but when she looked at the dial for the water temperature, it was all the way to the hot side. She probably ran the water for too long, and now there wasn't any hot water left.

She shampooed and conditioned her hair vigorously, watching the dark water run down the drain, and then scrubbed her skin until it hurt pleasantly. The spray sluiced down her face and body, and she stood there for a very long time, letting the water soak her hair, and run down her skin.

Someone banged on the door, making her jerk a little, but this time she kept her footing. Climbing out carefully, she wrapped herself in a towel tightly and picked up her clothes.

Derek scowled at her as she opened the bathroom door.

"Did you need something?" she asked, plucking her brace off the counter with the hand that wasn't holding everything to her chest.

He opened his mouth, but then seemed to realize something and his cheeks flushed dark red. Averting his eyes, he muttered, "Dinner's ready."

She blinked, and pressed her injured arm tighter against her chest. "Thanks." It came out petulant and whiny, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "You know, I'm not trying to piss you off or anything."

The shy look that had dominated his masculine features twisted into a sneer. "That's what you do regardless."

Shifting, she leaned against the counter.

For a teenage guy face to face with a girl in nothing but a towel, he was surprisingly calm, his eyes on her face, and that was more intimate than if he'd unraveled her towel and stared. His green stare unnerved her, hard like glass.

"I'm really not. It just seems like there's something bigger than the both of us going on, Derek. More than angels and demons. Why are you still here? With me?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

He didn't reply, so she plowed on.

"What did you do that was so bad that you were cast out of heaven?"

The whisper made him tense up, the muscles in his forearms clenching, and he met her eyes then, glaring harshly, but she ignored the rising panic and fear, the discomfort; obviously she'd said the wrong thing, but she'd gotten a rise out of him, a reaction, and that said something.

His reason for banishment was a touchy subject, no doubt, but she felt she had the right to know at least _something_. She wouldn't ask him that, though.

She rubbed her arm, wishing she'd changed into her clothes instead of standing here with her towel wrapped around her.

"That's none of your _fucking_ business," he snarled, but the words lacked the emotion, the rage, and he turned and walked away. He left the bathroom door ajar, so she closed it quickly and locked it.

Obviously, she'd hit a nerve.

Her hands shook as she dressed, sweeping her hair up into a bun and then slid her wrist back into the brace, wincing as it throbbed and burned at the slight jarring. Maybe it wasn't as healed as she thought. When she opened the door again, the house was silent, eerily so.

Had Derek left again?

When she headed downstairs, she saw the table upright, as though it had never been broken, with her aunt's baubles arranged in the same manner they had been before they were shattered. She'd given up trying to figure out how he kept fixing things like that.

"You need to do something, Derek," a semi-familiar voice hissed, a girl's voice, and Chloe scowled; he hadn't told her he was inviting anyone over. She rounded the corner, spotting the familiar dark head of curls, the copper skin, of Rae Rodgers.

Startled, Chloe let out a squeak that made both occupants turn to her.

"Chloe, how are you? He hasn't been giving you any trouble, has he?" Rae asked, stepping forward with a light bounce in her step that sent her curls quivering, a wide smile on her pretty face. It was weird not seeing her in her volleyball uniform; a dark red tank-top hugged her robust chest and showcased her arms...as well as the peek of black crawling up her chest.

The edges of the black tattoo was like a punch to the gut. "Y-you're an a-an-ange-e-el too?" the blonde whispered, wide-eyed as her eyes bounced between the two of them.

Derek glared. "Give the girl a _fucking_ prize." Mockingly, he clapped, and she felt herself flush dark.

"Must you be a complete asshole?" she demanded, glaring right back at him with as much anger as she could muster. Sniffing to herself, she turned away from him, thinking some not so nice things about his appearance, and turned her attentions to Rae. "What are you doing here?"

The dark-haired girl smiled again. "Derek hasn't explained anything to you, has he?"

"He said he wasn't allowed. For me to know..." Chloe trailed.

Rae's smiled turned hard and angry. "You have to know. You _must._ Otherwise, they'll get you. They'll track you down and kill you."

"Who? Why are you here?" Chloe squeezed her muscles tight, bracing for the words.

Rae placed her hands on the blonde's shoulders. "The demons, Chloe. Royce. The demons want you because of your lineage. And I'm here as Derek's superior.


	14. XIV

Dark Angel

XIV

She looked at Rae's desperate expression and glanced back at Derek. "W-what? I don't..." She swallowed hard, pulling away as her stomach twisted; she pressed her trembling hands against her chin, digging her fingers in. "Why me? _Why me?_ " Hysteria crept into the words without her permission.

Derek scowled. "Why are you freaking out all the sudden?"

"Demons," she repeated softly, "angels. What next? Vampires?" She snorted a long, loud laugh that caught in her throat and sounded more strangled than anything. Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth hard enough that the press of her bottom teeth into the tender skin was painful, she looked at the two supernatural beings. "Sh-should I-I ex-expect gh-ghos-osts too?"

"Don't be stupid," Derek said, his glare saying enough.

Chloe temper began to climb. "I don't kn-know wh-what your fu-fucking problem is," she hissed, clenching her hands into fists, "b-but I think y-you need to get over yourself, Derek. F-forgive me if I'm st-still trying wrap my head around th-the fact d-demons and a-ang-gels are real." She tensed, bracing for his response.

"Please, Chloe, you need to listen to me," Rae said softly. "We already know one goes to your school. Royce. He's a Level E, which, while it's fairly harmless, is still cause for concern for you; Level E's enter through your dreams and drag your soul to hell with them if you let yourself doubt us for even a second."

Chloe's throat scraped as she swallowed. Dragging her soul to hell if she doubted them, even for a second. What a peaceful way to go. "Why me?" she asked finally, closing her eyes against the flood of hot, painful tears that burned her sockets. _Haven't I suffered enough?_

She sank her teeth viciously into the soft, pliant skin of her lip until she broke the skin and the taste of blood flooded her mouth. It stung and burned but even that couldn't make her feel better.

"You were a target long before we met on the bridge," Derek explained exasperatedly, his expression one of long suffering, and the blonde had to ball her hands up again so she wouldn't be tempted to hit him. The way he talked to her stabbed at old insecurities and rankled her pride. Like all she'd done was bitch and moan about everything life was throwing at her.

Closing his eyes as he tipped his head back, he continued. "I was on my way to guard you, actually, when we crossed paths. Your thoughts were loud enough apparently to have Him guide me in your direction; it was like...a pull."

"Guard me? Why would you need to guard me?" she asked.

"Chloe," Rae began but Derek, being the asshole he was, interrupted.

His eyes opened and he hung his head, his over grown bangs falling into his face again. Those eyes cut her to the core like shards of green glass as they met hers. She tensed, preparing for what he had to say. "I was sent to guard you because your mom was a fucking idiot that couldn't hide you; you're like a fucking beacon, right under everyone's nose, and now you're almost sixteen, well, that's when it happens."

Chloe saw red. "My mom wasn't an idiot. She was brilliant. She was the most amazing woman anyone had ever met!"

"Then where is she now?" he sneered, his glare meeting hers, and she swallowed thickly. She clutched the red gem of her pendant as she blinked hard against the hot tears that dripped down her face despite her best efforts. A flash of something crossed his face, twisted his features, as she struggled to calm down.

"She's _dead_ ," she said softly, her mind flooded with one thought that she _swore_ he heard because his eyes were locked on hers— _my two most important people are gone_ _and it's my fault_.


	15. XV

Dark Angel

XV

A hush had descended over the three of them, Chloe standing her ground even as her eyes blistered with unshed tears, Rae at a loss for words, and Derek staring Chloe down with an unreadable expression. Chloe sniffled, wiping her suddenly dripping nose across the back of her hand, and the noise cracked the silence.

"I'm so so—" Rae started, the apology dying on her lips when Chloe shook her head sharply, refusing to break Derek's gaze. He had the gall to belittle her about her absent mother when he had erased his father and sister's memories.

Chloe swallowed, finally finding her voice. "You're one to talk," she said sourly, "considering what you did to Kit and Tori last week." She felt a surge of power when she saw his face pale for a second and his eyes were so dark they appeared black, his features twisted and drawn with rage.

"You don't know _shit_ , bitch," he growled low and deep in the back of his throat, his voice nothing more than a thunderous rumble. "You think I _like_ being around someone so clumsy and embarrassing that she can't even fucking bathe on her own?" There was a gleam in his eyes that wasn't there before. Cruel, she realized, he looked _cruel_.

She opened her mouth to reply but he cut off her all too blithely. "Your mom got knocked up by a _human_ , producing _you_ , an idiot without a bone of self-preservation or common sense, and died without letting you know what you are. She put a seal on you—yeah, that birthmark on your minuscule chest—and now that you're approaching sixteen, as it often does, your heritage is calling for demons to come and take a piece."

She watched him, both nervous and fuming. He was rubbing salt into a wound he had no business viewing. "You are _unbelievable!"_ she yelled, spittle flying from her lips. "You have fought me tooth and nail and acted like I'm the biggest nuisance ever! I didn't _ask_ for you to save me from that river! Did it ever occur to you I _wanted_ to stay in the water?"

He went still, so still she was worried he'd broken something, but his eyes never left hers.

Emboldened by his lack of response, she plowed on. "You have absolutely no right to judge me! None! You have done nothing but be a pain in the ass to me since we met, from the minute you saved me, and I'm supposed to _trust_ you? When you're constantly glaring and making ugly comments about my family and being a general menace? What gives you _any_ right to judge me considering you erased your dad's memory of you last week!"

"It was what had to be done."

Her chest was heaving as blood thundered uproariously in her ears. Her face hot and splotchy, her eyes burning. He looked cool as a damn glacier, his green eyes like stone.

"Now that you're done with little bitch-fit, let me say this." His voice was soft and icy, sending prickles from the top of Chloe's head down her back. "I _don't_ care about you. I _don't_ like you. You have shown me you're _nothing_ but a spoiled, flighty, over-privileged drama queen who wants everyone to feel bad for her because your mommy's dead. How often do you bring that up to everyone, reminding them? Is _that_ why your aunt and dad are never home? Because you remind them of her?"

She was speechless, a lump in her throat. "Screw you."

"Sorry, not interested in little girls." And then he looked her up and down, slowly.

Her cheeks burned. She knew she wasn't a looker, that her body was too bony and skinny to be anything but a little kid's, and her butt and boobs were nonexistent, but his blatant leer made her uncomfortable and left her feeling ugly.

"I suggest, Chloe, you get off your high horse and put on your big girl panties because this isn't a game and if you make one wrong move, you could die."

"Why?"

He paused. "Why what?"

"Why bother going through all this trouble if you hate me so much? I'm just one girl; I'm not special. So why go through it all?" She met his eyes.

"I'm just following orders."

He turned and walked away quietly.

* * *

"I'm sorry." Rae's voice, slow and tender and soft. There was rustling and then silence. Soft sniffling and then quiet sobbing.

His heart stopped and he felt as though his stomach had been ran through clean with a knife as he hovered just outside the kitchen, listening to his angel companion comfort the girl he'd ripped into. He hadn't meant to be so cruel but looking at her, seeing that smug look on her face, had riled that broiling, skin-stripping rage that often plagued him and he had lashed out with the only weapon he could, his words, and cut her down neatly and easily.

"It's not your fault," was Chloe's fragile, wounded-bird response, her voice thin and weak from crying. Her words were punctuated by a particularly juicy sniffle.

Derek couldn't stand to hear anymore and fled like a coward, up the stairs, to his room where he closed the door quietly, and glared at the late afternoon sun streaming in. His room was devoid of any personal effects and personality. He had only washed the sheets and comforter the first day he was here, so that too held no trace of who he really was.

Not wanting to be disturbed, he locked the door and toed off his boots before he pulled off his shirt and glanced into the mirror hanging on the wall beside the desk. His eyes were cold and narrow, the expression on his face one of distaste and hatred. He looked cruel. He studied himself for a second longer before shucking off his jeans and crawling into bed, ignoring the light cutting through the blinds.

After lying there for what felt like an hour, he gave in and conjured a smartphone, a song in mind that would undoubtedly lull him to sleep. A little wave of his fingers canceled out all other outside sound and he played the music, closing his eyes.

Sleep was a blissful reprieve from the upheaval caused by the tiny strawberry-blonde Nephilim downstairs.


End file.
